“Behaviorally speaking, it makes sense.” He hesitated, and Tate knew that what was coming would be bad. Her stomach clenched. Max.
Her baby.
“I’m not sure how much your uncle or cousin was able to tell you, but we believe this man is the perp we’ve been looking for. His partner is the one who abducted Casey.”
“No.” Heart leaping like a wild thing, Tate almost sideswiped the next car. The man driving laid his hand on the horn, sending her a dirty look that she was blind to.
“Tate? Where are you?”
“I’m driving,” she admitted, trying to keep her shaky hands on the wheel. “I’m on my way to Bentonville.”
“No. No. Sweetheart, I don’t think that’s such a good idea.”
“What do you mean it’s not a good idea?” And the words were pure anger. All the helpless rage she was feeling boiled up to spill over Clay. “You just told me that some perverted child molester has my son, and you’re telling me to… what? Go home and wait? Do nothing while he violates my b-baby?”
Her voice broke. She couldn’t help it. “This is like… my worst nightmare come to life.”
“Believe me, I know. It’s unthinkable for any parent, but given what you experienced as a child…”
His words trailed off, and Tate couldn’t stand it. She shoved the images from all those years ago out of her head.
“Tate.” The renewed energy in Clay’s voice cut through her misery. “I know this is unbelievably difficult, but I need you to listen to me for a moment. Can you think of any reason, any reason at all, for the man in that composite to know what happened to you at camp?”
“What? Why would he? And what does that have to do with Max? Why did that man take Max?”
“I don’t have time to go into the full psychological explanation, but I believe he’s seeking revenge on everyone he construes as having screwed things up for him. You saw his partner with Casey, you started this whole ball rolling, so to speak, and he decided to make you pay. However, the means he used – abducting Max – and the risks he took to go about it, suggest some kind of more personal connection to you. It’s too out of character for him to take those risks for this to be just some passing irritation. He… despises you, wants to punish you in the worst possible way. I believe he knows you, and has some knowledge of the summer you saw the camp director molesting that boy.”
Tate blinked, thinking that was absurd. How could anyone she knew be capable of this? “It’s not something I go around discussing.”
“Then could it be someone who had a personal connection to what happened? I’m assuming the camp director went to prison. Did he have a son? Or how about the boy you saw with him?”
Tate blew out a frustrated puff of air. “Donald Logan wasn’t married and didn’t have any children as far as I know. And the boy he molested… his name was Timothy Russell. But surely you don’t think it could be him. Why on earth would he hate me for putting a stop to what was happening?” She nearly missed the exit to Bentonville, and jerked the steering wheel to the right.
“The psychology that goes along with child abuse – particularly sexual abuse – is complicated stuff. The abuser can twist the situation until the child believes that what has been done is an act of love. But because the child knows that it’s inherently wrong, his confliction over the situation results in a whole stockpile of anger just looking for a suitable outlet. If the victim isn’t counseled, they might misplace their anger by turning into abusers themselves.”
“So you think that this man might be one of the boys Logan abused, he turned to a life of crime, and somehow found out that I had been the one to see his accomplice? And he remembered me?” She laughed, completely without mirth. “I don’t mean to question that you know what you’re doing, but that just seems so far-fetched.”
“Truth’s stranger than fiction, sugar. Can you think of anyone, anyone at all, who might fit the bill? The more I know about the man inside that house with Max, the better chance I have of knowing what needs to be done to get Max out.”
Tate looked at the composite again, wondering how she was supposed to recognize anyone after all these years. And how did they even know for sure that this was what he really looked like? Her uncle had said that this man used disguises. That he had in fact checked into the Inn, dressed like an old lady. Tate shuddered, thinking about the fact that she’d been so close, and hadn’t even realized. She’d felt so bad when Mrs. Walker spilled the tea on her hand…
“Oh my God.” Her stomach turned, and she studied the drawing closely, pulling off to the side of the road to give it her full attention. Gravel crunched beneath the tires as she slammed the car into park.
The eyes, she thought. Something about the set of the mouth…
“What is it? You remember something?”
Tate’s hand shook as she straightened out the paper. “I could be wrong,” she said, heart sinking at the possibility. “But there’s a chance this could be Lifeguard John.”
KIM was on the phone with one of the Bureau’s information specialists, who was turning up everything they could possibly get on Jonathan Robert Walker.
Clay had no doubt that was the man inside with Max. The pieces of the puzzle fit.
From what he could piece together, Clay determined that Walker was probably a classic case of a neglected child falling victim to an opportunistic child molester – in this
